


Medical - Other Sides, Other Views

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Series: Bandage-Bound [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Betrayal, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Spies & Secret Agents, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 17,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: Things that happened in the past. Things Shiro didn't get to see. Things Shiro wasn't told about.





	1. Coran and Sarnal

He knows every inch of the castle’s secret tunnels, nooks. and crannies. He’d hidden in every single one at least once during all of the games of “Keep Away From the Nobles” while growing up.

How ironic that most of the places he’d considered to be the safest had in fact been designed to be some form or another of trap.

Breath rasping deep in his lungs, muscles in his shoulders straining, he heaves himself over the moving wall that had nearly splattered him against the spikes that had appeared from the statues behind. They’d once lined the Hall of Whispers, he remembered, before Alfor’s mother had deemed them an eyesore.

Somehow he isn't surprised that they’d been part of the security system.

 _“You’re making good time, youngster,”_  Sarnal’s voice pipes over the comm band around his wrist.  _“But don’t think that means you get to catch your breath. Hup, hup. I’m an old man, you gotta learn how all this kullashit works before I croak.”_

“Yessir,” Coran wheezes, though his master’s snark brings a small grin to his face. Then he ducks an energy spear that lances through the air in an attempt to take off his head and plows on.


	2. Cousins

“I’m reasonably sure you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Fffft.” Qirika mock-pompously sticks her nose in the air and pops the stolen chaika berry cream puff in her mouth. “When has that ever stopped us before?” she asks after swallowing, and Coran can't help a grin.

“Never,” he admits. “Where’s Hebe?”

“Probably loading her pockets with punamaya wraps. You saw how she perked up when Chef Mornam said  _those_ were on the menu tonight.”

“We all have our vices. I hope she doesn’t make herself sick on them again.”

“I hope she does. It’ll be funny to watch her sprout feathers.”

“ _Qirika_.”

“What? She’s my twin. I’m allowed to say that kind of thing.”

Coran rolls his eyes, but shakes his head when she elbows him, grinning. “So, aside from making off with half the buffet, have you two got anything?”

If anything, her grin only grows wider, sharper. “Oh, cousin mine, do we  _ever._ Did you know the Governor of the Paiaku Colony is cheating on his wife with the ambassador from Batru?”

“Who’s using the relationship to angle for some very lucrative mining rights.” Hebe pops up on his other side, munching on a punamaya wrap. 

Qirika snorts at the sight of her bulging pockets. “You’re gonna get feathers.”

“Shut it. I took my meds.”

“Mining rights?” Coran asks, attempting to steer them back to the matter at hand.

“Oh, yeah. And _wait_  ‘til you hear about-”


	3. The Paladins - The Lions

She hasn’t slept in four days. She ran out of orlabiki berries to make stimulant soda yesterday, and Smooshy keeps tweedling at her that she either needs to sleep or send him out for more.

She does neither and digs through a mess of parts to start working on another drone prototype.

Steal _her_ work, will they?

Turn _her_ mining drones into assassin droids, will they? 

Fine.

If they want killer drones, _fine._ She’ll _give them-_

A roaring crash outside makes her teeth rattle in her skull, and she blinks stupidly at Smooshy, who whistles back to deny it was him. Swearing under her breath, she shoves her goggles back off her eyes and drags herself to her feet, climbing up through the dead lava tubes and opening the portal to stare at-

A metal nose?

She yelps when the muzzle moves, taking hold of her clothes and lifting her out of the portal onto solid ground.

The huge metal beast stares at her expectantly, and she stares back, unable to muddle up a coherent reaction for what seems like ages.

‘ _I am too tired for this,’_ she finally thinks numbly, and is surprised when a warm voice answers back in her mind.

‘ _Sleep, then, My Paladin. And we will talk.’_

_—_

He is gathering the komori lilies to feed the hatchlings when Metchai tells him a strange beast has been sighted at the northwest borders of the clan grounds. He gives her the baskets and tells her to warn the minders while he goes to investigate.

With signal horn and climbing whip at hand, he slips into the waters beyond the growing ponds, all four eyes open and bright in the dim light of the groves.

It does not take long nor far before the great shadow slips alongside him. Startled, he nearly drops the climbing whip, before the silvery voice whispers to his thoughts.

‘ _Do not fear, My Paladin. Come, talk with me.’_

He should turn away.

A shadow in the waters with glowing eyes?

Surely it invites him to his death.

But something deep in his instincts soothes his worries. Wrapping the whip around his waist and leaving the horn behind, he glides into the wake of the great beast and follows.

—

Lulls in the fighting are anything but calming. All they mean is that the other side is coming up with a new way to shell you into oblivion.

She grits her teeth and heaves against the wrench, and the nut finally comes free, spinning off the bolt. ‘ _Finally,’_ she thinks, along with several other, more colorful words, as she rips the panel off the side of the tank and begins re-soldering the frayed cables within.

It’s the third time this one’s been hit. It can’t take another, she knows. But the Nothatchan rebels don’t have any to spare, and they’re depending on her to keep what they have running. So she repairs the wires and cleans out the burned bits and puts in some extra steel she forged the day before to try and cover the weakness in the armor.

Okay.

Maybe it’ll hold. 

Maybe.

She bolts the panel shut and hops down, kicking the side of the tank to alert the pilot to get going. 

Then the sky whistles, and more vivid curses fill her head as the points of light become visible above-

-before something intercepts them.

Soldiers scatter, screaming, as a massive form streaks from the air and lands in a cloud of dust and churning mud.

And she can only stare at the creature that towers before them all.

‘ _They will not harm you, My Paladin. Speak with me?’_

—

He groans quietly and rubs the back of his neck, wincing when his fingers find the new scars under his carapace.

It seems like so long ago that he left home for this assignment, and so little progress has been made.

But progress is progress, he tells himself. He has had an audience with the Brekkel leader. That is more than has been done in nine centuries.

Perhaps all those dull talks with his Altean friends about facing this new age with diplomacy are beginning to pay off, he thinks with a chuckle as he gazes out at the stars.

A tiny comet blazes past the seventh and sixth moons, and he watches with some amazement. 

A comet?

Here?

No, he realizes as it comes closer, a remarkably agile spaceship. A very bold one, he thinks, to traverse the Colonies with no dampeners to hide its engine trail, nor shields to cover its lights.

And then he starts in alarm when the ship veers towards _him,_ revealing itself to be neither comet _nor_ ship, but some form of mechanical beast, staring at him from outside the viewport with an intensity that makes his heart stutter.

‘ _My Paladin. It has been a long journey to find you.’_


	4. Cousins - Two

Hebe is fluttering her fingers behind her back as she hovers near the buffet.

To literally anyone but him and Qirika, it would be a simple nervous habit, but years and years of “Hide from the Royals” and “Keep Away From the Nobles” have turned the code into an art.

_4left-3forward-1right, 5forward-2right-2forward_

Sipping from his glass, he surreptitiously peers over the rim to find who she’s tracking.

There’s a member of the Miktanku delegation that matches her rhythm mingling with the other diplomats…

…and keeping far too sharp an eye on Allura and the other children being watched by Prichel.

His mouth draws tight, and he drifts over to Maila and her tray of drinks. “Would you mind getting some Chaikala petals to garnish the glasses?” he asks with a smile.

Her own doesn’t falter in the slightest. “Of course, sir,” she says with a slight bow and sweeps off into the kitchens.

Turimi is by his side in moments, a tray of sweet kuilii cakes in hand and knives hidden under her skirt, but those won’t be necessary; the comm hidden in her sleeve with a channel to the guards on the balcony will. “Do we need anything else for the party?” she asks.

“Mind the eggs in the silvernest soup, please. If they’re taken out too soon, it will ruin the whole batch,” Coran replies just loudly enough for the comm to catch, deftly scribbling a quick description on a tiny chip and tucking it under a cake. 

“Yessir,” she says with a faint smirk and practically vanishes; he catches his cousin’s eye and nods that there are now more eyes on their wayward delegate.

And only when he sees two guards quietly ushering the Miktanku out to the balcony for a little chat does he start to relax a little.

“Coraaaaan!”

Little hands yank on his pants leg and he pretends to jump in surprise before looking down to find a grinning Allura in one of the pink dresses her mother used to favor and the first and second daughters of the Miktanku Consul, all wrapped in silver silk and copper accents like their father. “Sweet Glories, you lot gave me a fright! What are you scamps up to?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Sweets!” the girls crow. “We want sweets!”

“Is that a fact? What did Prichel say?”

“That we’re too short to reach the table!”

“Huh. Well, let’s see if we can’t do something about  _that,”_ he says with a smile and scoops his little princess up so that they can all go join his cousins, the children none the wiser to the  _other_ games being played at the party.


	5. Mirje

A small cut above her eye bleeds sluggishly. She shakes her head to get the blood out of her vision, golden mane falling into her face. “Forge-forsaken coward!” she roars, battle rage boiling in her blood. “You had no problem raising your hand to a friend before! Get your ass down here and face me proper!”

Infuriatingly, he only turns his back, and the gate before her opens once more, vomiting eight of his soulless husks where she had cut down four before. With a snarl, she bares her fangs and hefts the warhammer, digging her hooves in to lunge.

Filthy traitor.

Filthy stars-damned _traitor._

In her mind’s eye, she sees Coran laying on the ground, nearly cleaved by an honored blade turned on a comrade. She sees Joitree, the spark of her mind forever extinguished by an assassin's neurotoxin. 

The last sentry falls, its head and torso practically crushed into each other, and she ignores the pain in her right side and thigh. Snarling, her breath snorting out dust and smoke, she rips the sword from one destroyed metal body and flings it at his unprotected head, only for one of his shadows to appear and shield him, knocking it aside.

“Zarkon! Fight your own battles you honorless kellmek!”

Still nothing. 

Still more sentries.

Screeching and roaring her anguish and hate, she launches herself at them, not caring how many had to fall before she could finally tear him to pieces. “Zarkon! I will kill you, so help me!” 

The handle of the hammer fails. She stabs it into a droid at her back and throws the weight into a knot of robots, blowing them to pieces. She resorts to her claws, ripping the head off one sentry and thrusting her arm through the chest of another. “Zarkon!”

Her lungs are burning. Blood streams from cuts and burns that litter her body. Her right leg screams in agony. She doesn’t care. His back is still turned and the sentries still come, and she grits her teeth and plows on, ignoring the searing ache in her limbs. “I will-”

Still they come.

 _Still_ they come.

They surround her, a double ring. She can no longer count them. The battle elders would be proud that so many have fallen to her rage, but she doesn't  _care._ The only one whose skull matters still has not turned to face her, and she seethes.

The sentries, however, don't attack in response to her roar of challenge.

They stand silent.

They wait.

She snarls, tail lashing, her world going reddish-grey at the edges. Hands shaking, she flexes her claws and raises one to wipe the blood from her mouth. “Is…Is that… all…you...” 

She doesn't feel it when she hits the ground and blackness claims her for the last time.


	6. Thatchia

Warm  
Nest-Mates Huddle  
Drip-Drip Fall-Water  
Nest Soft  
Stomach Full  
Safe  
Happy  
Warm  
Sleep

—

Too Full  
Breed  
Sprout  
New Nest-Mates  
Find Food  
Leave Nest  
Find Food  
Hungry  
Strange Noise By Drip-Drip  
Strange  
Stra- Run!  
Run!  
 _Run!_  
 _Pain!_

_—  
_

_Strange Place_  
 _Too Noisy_  
 _Too Hot_  
Scary Voice -” _Shut up in there!”-_  
 _Pain!  
_ Tired  
Hungry  
So Hungry  
 _So Hungry_  
New Voice -” _Poor thing, aren’t you a sweetheart?”-_  
Soft touch  
Gentle touch  
Food!  
Safe

—

New Place  
Strange Place  
Smooth Place  
Not Stone  
New Nest  
Nice Voice -” _What a pretty thing you are. A real beauty.”-_  
Gentle Touch  
Food! Food! Food!  
New Voice - “ _Never took you for a cat person.”_  
Gentle touch  
Safe

_Safe_

_Happy_


	7. The Empty Larder

Hunk frowned at the jars in his hands, then at the boxes of supplies they’d brought aboard. “Hey, Coran?”

The older man didn’t look up from where he was sorting several polythene pouches into slots in a drawer. “Hm?”

“I’ve been kinda wandering since our stop on Thalani… You know a lot about this stuff and what they all do… How come you never use any of it?”

Coran straightened and opened the next box in one motion, but Hunk still caught it: a slight catch, a small clenching in his hands. “You seem to do just fine working intuitively,” he replied, voice even despite the slip. "No reason to be watching over your shoulder every minute."

Maybe a little  _too_ even? And had that been a dodge? He was pretty sure that was a dodge.

Hunk put the jars in their places on the shelf, then dug back into the box he’d been emptying, curiosity bickering with caution. “Well… okay, I guess," he said hesitantly, hoping he didn't push too hard. "But… Don’t you get tired of just putting the same thing in the replicators all the time when you’ve got all this here?”

At a sharp  _crunch,_ he started in alarm and looked over to find that Coran had put down a bottle so hard it had  _cracked,_ and though he couldn’t see the Altean’s face, every line in the redhead’s body was tense _._ “C- Coran?” he asked nervously.

“My apologies if my recipe memory’s rusty for anything other than emergency rations,” Coran replied, voice oddly brittle. Not…  _angry,_ but-

Unfortunately, his brain skipped a track slightly at the worst possible moment. “Wait, you’ve been feeding us  _emergency rations_?” he asked, before it actually caught up to where it was  _supposed_ to be and he realized the full weight of just what that  _meant_. “All this time… those were…” 

Coran turned away from the supplies they were unpacking, and was out the door before Hunk could catch him.

—

He felt like an  _ass._ And he was  _really_ wishing he’d studied the layout of the ship beyond the areas he’d been working with Pidge in. Coran, he’d just learned, was surprisingly fast when he wanted to be, and now he had no idea where to find the guy.

Luckily, there was someone who always seemed to. 

“-and I have  _really_ screwed up, and I gotta fix it,” he finished explaining to Shiro in the training round.

“Geez,” Shiro muttered rubbing the back of his neck. “I can think of one place he’d probably go to cool off, but I’m not sure he’d want me taking you down there.”

“ _Please?_  I swear I won’t tell anyone if it’s some kind of secret, but I  _gotta_  talk to him.”

“…Alright.” Shiro crouched and put away the spear he’d been practicing with, then whistled. Thatchia, who’d been napping on the railing, hopped down with a chirp and shuffled over to be picked up. “Follow us.”

—

Aside from the green emergencies, only one light was on in the hallway Shiro and Thatchia led him to, and the whole vibe left Hunk with a serious case of the creeps. “Where are we?”

“The Old Paladins’ Quarters,” Shiro replied quietly. “Coran and I come down here sometimes to talk when everyone else is asleep.”

“It feels… ghosty. Ghostly? If that’s even a word,” Hunk muttered, edging closer. “Doesn’t it bother you?” 

Shiro looked at his metal arm, turning it one way and another, and the dark pink lines of light in the casing flashed in the darkness. “Not really,” he said, a sort of…  _fondness_ in his voice.

Hunk bit his lip, then brightened as he put it together. “ _That’s_ why you two were so sneaky about where the new arm came from. You got it from here!”

Shiro grinned and Thatchia chirped. “Got it in one. Original Paladin make,” he said, then knocked on the doorframe of the lit room they came to. 

Coran was seated inside on a stool, hunched over a counter. A cana was clutched in his hand and pouches and bowls and bottles and jars were scattered around him…

And he looked like  _hell_.

That same expression from before, the unsteady, thin, not-anger was etched on his face as he stared into the black steaming liquid that Hunk recognized as the chocolate-ish mix the older man had started giving them after training. 

That look made his chest hurt.

“Come on in, Shiro,” Coran said without raising his head.

“Actually, I’m just the guide this time,” Shiro replied, and if Coran was surprised when he did look up and find him half hidden behind the taller Paladin, his face didn’t show it.

Hunk coughed nervously, then stepped out. “Um, don’t be mad at him for bringing me down, okay? I kinda bugged him to do it. I just… I just wanted to apologize. I made you feel like crap for giving us the only food you had, and I’ve got no excuse for that. I’m sorry.”

Coran stared at him for a moment, gaze measuring, then he let out a slow breath and indicated a seat across from him. “Come sit. You’re welcome to stay too, if you like, Shiro.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Shiro said, reaching over to steal something out of one of the jars and deposit Thatchia on the counter as Hunk sat down. “I’d just be an extra wheel, and I still need more spear practice anyway. I’ll leave you to it.”

Hunk watched his fellow Paladin leave, then clasped his hands on the counter, unsure of what to do or say next. 

Thankfully, Coran spared him. “This is the first recipe I’ve retaught myself. Had to completely replace all the ingredients since everything on Altea was destroyed.”

 _“Everything?”_  Hunk asked, stunned. 

“Zarkon was very thorough.”

Hunk looked at the contents of the closest bowl, some sort of slivered fruit. “How long ago was it for you?” he asked quietly after a minute of fidgeting.

“Fifteen-ish years, I suppose. About an Altean birth cycle.”

He had a feeling Coran knew the timing to a much more definite degree than that. He also had a feeling the older man was fudging it a little to ease his feelings. He let it go, picking up the bowl that had pricked his curiosity. It seemed to catch Thatchia’s, too, and he offered the kittekirri a slice when she snuffled at him. 

The silence that fell between them was still heavy, uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure what to do to break it. Finally, words just sort of bubbled up. “Sometimes I dream about tako poke. Haven’t been able to find anything yet that could substitute for it yet, though I’ve tried. But… I know it’s not the same thing, because at least I have the  _chance_  of going home and eating it again someday.”

Coran leaned his cheek on his hand, curiosity finally breaking through the misery. “What is this ‘tako’ of yours?”

“An octopus. A kind of squiggly creature with eight arms,” Hunk said, making the motion with his fingers. “You can only eat certain kinds, though. Some of them are poisonous.”

“Hah. You humans are more adventurous with food than I gave you credit for, it seems,” Coran said, the faintest of small smiles appearing.

“Yeah, we’re good at that,” Hunk said with a grin. “What about you? Alteans eat anything deadly?”

“Hm, our cultural foods aren’t that vicious, specifically. A few creepy-crawlies here and there, I suppose. But I did pick up a taste for one of her majesty’s favorites from her family’s world of Mabar. Had enough spice in it to put down a damyan. The former Green Paladin loved them, too.”

Hunk grinned. “You would have  _loved_ my Amma. She used to say that if it didn’t clear your head, it wasn’t hot enough.”

Thatchia interrupted the conversation with a demand for another treat, and Coran’s smile was a little more genuine when he gave her a chunk of some kind of nut out of a jar. 

And Hunk got an idea.

“Hey… maybe we could experiment on some recreations together? You know this stuff better than I do; I bet you could find an octopus.”

And finally, the last of the shadows seemed to clear away. “Perhaps… Maybe I could.”


	8. Coran and Illyere - One

Two days after he’d found her sleeping with Shiro in the archives, Coran comes across his Queen sitting in what had been Allura’s old playroom. “Illy?”

She raises her head from where she’d been curled in the swisher chair -asleep?- and the smile is weak, but welcoming. “Hey, Red. Come on in,” she murmurs, unfolding herself to put her feet back in her shoes. 

He obeys, taking a seat on his customary chair and trying not to pay attention to the dark circles under her eyes that make the glow of her markings stand out even more. “Allura said you weren’t at dinner,” he says, soft and concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I… don’t know,” she replies, her breath coming out in a soft huff. “You’d think I’d be ravenous all the time, wouldn’t you?” She looks herself over and chuckles, but the sound is brittle, hollow. “But it’s like my body’s afraid to eat. It was afraid to sleep before, and now it’s afraid to eat.” She looks at him, and the expression on her face make his heart clench. “Does that even make sense?”

Coran swallows, then takes off his glove and reaches out to take her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles soothingly as he’d done in a birthing room so, so long ago. Glories, she's so cold… “You’ve been through something horrible, Illy. You’ve been gone so long. Maybe your body is having to re-learn what it’s like to be _home..”_

 _“_ Mm… that… sounds right…”

He tugs gently, and she comes out of the chair, curling up beside him. Long curls spill into his lap and over his back as she rests her head on his shoulder, and he tries not to think about how different they feel or smell compared to his memories. “You know,” he says, rubbing her back soothingly. “Most of your dresses are still in one of the closets here.”

She makes a faint snort of surprise and raises her head. “What?”

“Allura insisted. Every time the nurses tried to put them away in storage or give them away, she’d make the most horrible hellraising tantrum. Wouldn’t let them touch those or Vulluna.”

Illyere’s expression softens, eyes widening a little. “She… still has Vulluna?”

“Mhmm. How about you change, and then go ask her to show you?”

“I… Hm… That sounds good,” she murmurs, getting up and letting him guide her to the correct closet, and he politely turns his back to let her dress.

“Alright, I'm done.”

When he turns back around, she’s picked the high-collared wine and pink gown with bishop sleeves and Mabarka copper-diamond accents. “Y’know, that was Allura’s favorite.”

“Lucky choice… I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you’ve got me for that.”

Illyere smiled, and her whole form seemed to lighten with it, making the sour feeling in his chest disappear. There are so _many_ differences between this thin, frightened woman and the bright flame who'd become his closest friend when he'd started out as a guard, but now _he_ is one of the few things she recognizes, and as long as he keeps that in mind, he can make this work. “I do, don’t I? C’mon, Red. Let’s go.”

He can help her be herself again, and then maybe they'll both get better. “Anywhere you like, Illy.”


	9. Thace

The Umorna are a suspicious people by nature.

It takes him nearly two full moon cycles to earn their trust and move high enough in the chain of intel to meet the broker that funnels their weaponry through the rebel network that opposes the Empire.

His breath freezes in his chest when his hosts lead him into the room and the other male stands from the table.

An Altean.

An actual _Altean._

He had heard the rumors that the supposed dead race had returned along with their vaunted metal knight, but to actually see one of the Sovereign’s former allies alive and in the flesh makes his heart stutter. 

Perhaps there is hope after all.

<< _Thank you, Che’lli, >>_ the stranger says in a perfect imitation of the clicking dialect of the Umorna. << _Do you wish to stay for the meeting? >>_

<< _You have always been trustworthy in our dealings, Co’ran_ ,>> the leader of his guides replies. << _We will return to lead him out when you call. >>_

Co’ran? That name sounds familiar somehow…

His new host bows politely, and he follows in kind. “I’ve heard good things about you, sir,” the Altean says. “My friends here are not quick to trust.”

“No, they aren’t,” he replies, the synthesizer in his mask disguising his voice. “They were very good at keeping _you_ hidden, for example.”

“Undoubtedly you understand the reasons for that.”

Was that a flicker of a particle shield? Smart man. 

He swallows, trying to keep his breathing even. “Then I suppose in order to gain _your_ trust, I must tell you why it is imperative I met you,” he says quietly.

Hoping he hasn’t just signed his own death warrant, he reaches up to remove his mask.


	10. Coran and Illyere - Two

“Not joining the festivities?”

Coran looks up as Illyere sinks into the seat beside his, offering a glass of some sort of spirits from their generous host. He smiles faintly and accepts. “No, I think not,” he replies, giving the liquid a cautious sniff and finding it smelled like the spicy fruits that had been growing around where the castle had landed. “A bit too boisterous for me; I shall just have to be content with watching.”

“Mm,” she murmurs, slipping off her shoes and curling up in her chair to sip at her glass. “As long as you’re _are_ alright with that.”

He can't help a slight flinch at the underlying hint in her tone, knowing he’s been caught. “They do seem to love him, don’t they?” he asks softly as they both turn their attention to the dance floor, where Shiro is constantly having to fend his way through invitation from male and female Hulemequin alike. 

Illyere tilts her head, expression soft and concerned. “Red…”

“It’s fine, Illy. If he finds someone else, that’s his business. I warned him to begin with that I was too old for him. This whole affair…”

She gently squeezes his hand, and he lets out a breath before draining his glass in one swallow and squeezing back. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You know it only makes me worry more when you say that,” she chides him, wrinkling her nose in a familiar expression of mock-irritation, and he chuckles.

A thump cuts into their conversation, and they're both surprised to find a ruffled Shiro plopped into the seat on the other side of Coran. “There you two are,” he says, grin lopsided and relieved. “I thought I was never going to find you in this crowd.”

Coran blinks at him, and Illyere elbows him gently before answering the younger man, a faint grin on her face. “Oho? You were _looking_ for us, were you?”

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, blushing a little as he takes the glass out of Coran’s other hand and set it aside before taking hold of said hand, the gesture just subtle enough that it would go unnoticed by anyone passing by.

Coran coughs, his face pinking slightly before he regains his composure, then he lightly elbows a snickering Illyere back before settling more comfortably into his chair to watch the celebration dances, everything once more the way it should be.


	11. Illyere and the New Paladins - One

“Hey, has anyone seen the-  _whoa._ What’s… going on in here?”

Hunk had only meant to grab one quick thing from the kitchen, but what meets him inside was barely-organized chaos. Drawers and cabinets had been emptied of all their packets and vials and boxes, now arrayed in a colorful pattern of spice and flavor.

And in the middle of it all stands the Queen, scrutinizing several bubbling pots with her hands on her hips, her wide sleeves bound to her arms and her hair tied back into a heavy braid.

“Er- your, uh, worship? Majesty? Queenyness?”

Glowing eyes flick in his direction, and the wrinkled expression of consideration relaxes into a smile. “Oh, Hunk. Illyere is just fine. I see no reason for upholding the title when I am… retired, I suppose. Come in.”

“Sure.” He cautiously peers into a large iced-over jar, then yelps when a spindly leg swiped at him and quickly slams the lid shut. “Uh, if it’s not too much trouble, what are you doing?”

“Right now, pursuing an exercise in frustration, it seems. Once I find the right substitutions, however, it will be another matter.”

“Sub- oh. Oh, like what Coran’s been doing?”

“Indeed.”

“Would it… be kind of rude if… I asked to help?”

Another smile. “Not at all, if you can keep up,” Illyere teases, all sharp teeth.

Hunk grins back at the mock-challenge, rolling up his sleeves. “Oh, it’s gonna be like  _that,_ is it? Now my honor as a chef is at stake!” 

—

“Hmm… tret’chai, still not the right heat. Pass me that jar of murukeeri letrika powder, maybe that’s what’s missing.”

Re-learning Altean food with Coran was like chemistry, all tiny measurements and watching for the slightest color change. Re-learning Mabarka food with Illyere, Hunk is discovering, was much more like witchcraft. Instinct, bubbling cauldrons, and a LOT of fire.

It's kind of fun. Reminds him a bit of his Amma.

“A little more crushed nammaki root… There.”

“Good?”

“Almost perfect. Check the icing-chamber, there should be some unshelled Yprikalli Legs. They're ideal for roasting.”

There's no missing what she probably means. Each one is as long as his arm and nearly as wide. “Holy crap,” he breathes in a tiny voice, then drags the container out and hefts it onto his shoulders. “ _All_ of them?”

“Mmhmm. They keep better after cooking, and even if we can’t eat them all, they’ll make good trading food.”

He turns to find Illyere dragging down a cooking pan even bigger than the container he carries with little effort. “Is it just a royal thing or are all Alteans like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know-” he puts his burden down on their cooking counter, then flexes. “Grr.”

Illyere starts laughing, and for a moment, he feels his face heat in embarrassment, then she shakes her head. “Altea used to have much higher gravity back when it was still a flourishing world. Add in shapeshifting capabilities, and you have quite the combat species.”

“Wow… geez… what about, um…” Unable to come up with a polite way to ask about the fangs and claws, he vaguely motions to his face.

“No, no that’s my other side. Permanent, I might add,” Illyere says as she pulls off the lid of the frozen container and lifts out the first leg to marinate. “I have no ability to morph.”

“But Allura said she got her healing from you, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then that’s still really cool.”

She gives him a faintly lopsided smile. “I’m glad you think so,” she says, then tosses him a leg. “Shall we?”

He looks at the bubbling pot of spices and sauce and grins. “Let’s.”

—

His mouth is on fire. 

His eyes are watering.

His nose is streaming.

He is sure smoke is going to start coming out of his ears any minute.

“Good, right?” Illyere asks after swallowing a bite, infuriatingly unaffected by the lava-burst of spices she’d just consumed.

Hunk can only grin through the pain and nod as he sinks his teeth again into the most perfectly-roasted meat he's ever had in his life.

If he's going to burn to death, let him die eating this with his new friend.


	12. The Royals

“Soooo,” Allura asks casually as she twirls her spear-sticks in the bowl of Kupeqila Salad and comes up with a slice of seared ilipura fish. “Does this mean I should start calling him ‘Uncle’ as well, now?”

Coran chokes in mid-drink, half-sputtering his juice across his plate, and immediately shoots a glare at Illyere. The Queen, mouth full of food, points to herself, then raises her hand and shakes her head with an innocent expression before swallowing.

“Lu’chet’ka’s Honor, I did _not_ put her up to that.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s clear she’s started to take after your bad habits,” Coran manages with a wheeze as he wipes his mouth, having gotten the coughing under control.

Allura’s smile is brilliant and absolutely unrepentant. _“Well?”_ she prods.

“I’d really rather you _didn’t_. I’m still not entirely sure how long this is intended to last.”

“Still in the 'setting ground rules' stage, are we?” Illyere asks with a raised eyebrow as she steals a small piece of spiced bread from his place that has miraculously stayed dry.

“I suppose you could put it that way. It’s hard to… quantify. Put a name to.”

“Does it have to have a neat little categorization at all? Nothing about our family has ever been so simple, has it?”

“No,” he admits with a faint smile. “No, it hasn’t.”

Allura reaches over and gives his hand an affectionate, reassuring squeeze.

Then her smile sprouts her mother’s fangs. “I’m gonna call him Uncle just once to see what interesting colors he turns.”

Coran groans and scrubs his free hand over his face as Illyere starts laughing.

Bad habits  _indeed._


	13. Triad

“You are permitted to explore within a thirty hulare radius. There is a Galran outpost on the rim of the volcanic crater. You are _not_ to approach it, _nor_ engage with any Galran soldiers, nor sentries you see.”

**[May I disable drones?]**

“I suppose that’s acceptable. Do not interfere with the local flora or fauna in any damaging manner. Observational mode only. Be back on the ship in three cycles. Got all that?”

**[My mission parameters are complete, Papa.]**

Her central core registers ‘happiness’ when the Altean pats her casing. “Alright, then. Go have fun.”

—

Her camera eye zips back and forth around her body, trying to record everything she can get a glimpse of to categorize later. 

Or now.

It is hard not to try to run the programs while looking, even though that is highly -Ornikorla Flowers: _Akkama_ Class, intensely toxic- distracting. 

She pops up from the tall grasses -Plakktuka: _Metykik_ class, used by Elliyam basket-weavers- that had suddenly flooded her vision when she’d exited the forest and finds a herd of six-legged beasts plodding along, using their massive heads to rip down the grasses and munch on them. ‘Curious’, she floats over to get a better look.

The creatures have horns on their noses, scaly skin, big floppy ears, long wide tails, and four eyes, and didn’t look like _anything_ she’d seen before. They aren't coming up in her records, either.

Something new?

Something new!

Her core floods with ‘excitement’ at the realization that _she_ was the first to find these strange new herbivores, and she zips around the beasts, snapping pictures and recording video as fast as her processors can register-

-until one nudges her with its great head, pushing her gently out of her rotation.

Huh?

She turns back to the creature and ‘blinked’ at it, and it tilts its head at her before nudging her again and then turning back to its eating.

Hmmm. She files that away to study later.

She has snapped a few more pictures when a proximity alert beeps in her sensors.

Drone! Nasty, nasty drone! It is going to intrude on _her_ discovery!

Nope, nope, nope!

Her eye turns red and her casing shimmers as she goes into ‘stealth’ mode, rising up high and away from ‘her’ herd of beasties to seek out her quarry.

North-east, three cliks, aaaand… _**zap!**_

Hah! Take _that_ , mindless steel-chunk!

Just in time to go show her Fathers her creatures, too. They are going to be so pleased with her, she twitters to herself in glee as she floats off towards the castle. 

But first…

She pauses, then floats back down to the herd, finding the one that had noticed her. 

Maybeeee…

Careful to mind any static from her casing, she nudges its side.

Then makes a tiny squeal when it lightly head-butts her back before returning to its ceaseless meal.

First contact! Her Fathers are going to be _really_ proud of her, she thinks as she races home.


	14. The Crew

“You’re sure about this?” Pidge asks.

“We have spent many hours discussing it,” Illyere says, gently ruffling Allura’s hair as she sits with an arm around her daughter's shoulders, and the princess gives her mother a tight squeeze in return. “While you are all doing admirably in facing the Galra’s military, something must be done about their esoteric forces.”

“You mean the witch and her cronies,” Shiro says, folding his arms.

“Precisely,” Coran replies as he leans on the back of the couch mother and daughter are sitting on. “Her Majesty was quite the avid ruins explorer in our early years, as you saw during my... er... _malady_. She may have luck in finding something to aid us as soon as while we’re working on handling the forces on Heruk and Murukeer.”

Illyere reaches back to poke him. “I doubt it’ll be _that_ soon. But I think I’ll start by following the Vulluna on their migration route.”

“Good choice,” Allura says, expression hopeful, but uncertain. “That way you’ll have several planets to investigate, and guards on your voyage.”

Illyere kisses her daughter on the forehead, and several of them have to hide their grins. “I’ll be careful, sweetbug, I promise you. And I’ll check in at every stop.”

—

They're settled in the camp of the Murukeeri resistance forces when Allura’s wristband begins beeping with a message. “Mother’s landed somewhere!”

They all crowd in to see-

-and then jaws drop when the holoimage opens.

‘ _Not exactly what I intended to find, but I can’t complain!’_ reads the caption under the picture of a grinning Illyere sitting crosslegged on a _massive_ aqua-colored lion cub’s head, surrounded by a rainbow of other cubs. In the background, a pair of deep violet and lime green mothers several times even more gigantic lounge, looking deeply amused at the camera.

“Wha- that- those are supposed to be _extinct!”_ Coran wheezes. “How did she-”

“Wait, wait, hold up- you mean all this time the Voltron lions- _our lions-_ have been to _scale?”_ Hunk askes.

“Well, yes, of course, why wouldn’t they- sweet stardust, she found an entire _nest_!”

“Hey, quit changing the subject, you’re telling us there are _giant frikkin’ rainbow lions!”_ Lance protests.

 _“Why_ is this such a surprise? I thought you had lions on Earth!”

“But they’re, like, two meters!”

While the two -three -four all bicker, Allura just stares at the picture of her mother, beaming and in her exploratory element. Then she smiles, soft and affectionate, and taps in a reply.

_‘Think the Mamas might let me visit, too?’_


	15. The Crew - Two

“There’s a sour face.”

Kolivan glances in Coran’s direction, then merely makes a grumbling noise before turning back to the screen, scowl not budging an inch. Thace, on the other hand, is a bit more forthcoming. “Recruitment problems.”

“Hm? Ah, the Moryllia Sector. Haven’t advanced out that way.”

“An area your network hasn’t already touched? Pity. We were hoping you might have some insight.”

“I didn’t say  _that_. What’s the issue?”

The Galran spy pulls up what appeared to be several broken into security networks. “Someone’s been raiding outposts, which would be good news for us, except we haven’t been able to make contact. All attempts have been rebuffed.”

Coran frowns slightly, looking at the quick blurs of movement that were all the cameras seemed to be able to capture. “Are they refusing hailing channels? Attacking scouts?”

“We can’t even get  _that_ close. They’re using psychic shielding to cloak themselves.”

“Hah. Well, in that case, I  _can_  help you,” Pulling away from the holoscreens, he turns to go rummage in an inventory closet. “Hm… not here,” he mutters, going to another. “Not this one, either. Ah, Castle, pull up the inventory records for the Detruvian Psionic Hummer, please?”

“The what?” Kolivan asks, expression finally going from ‘dour’ to ‘mild interest’.

“It’s a device we used to use in the old days for diplomatic purposes when dealing with races that primarily communicated telepathically. It sends out a pulse on a wave that most psionic and psychic users find soothing, to tell them you mean no harm.”

“Hm. That  _would_ be an ideal way to make contact, if you still have it. And it still works.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Coran replies with a grin as an alert pops up on his comm band. “Back in a tic.”

—

It would have been preferable if it had just been the three of them. But none of them had expected the factory they were dropping into to become a melee of activated Galran droids when the foreman had caught wind of their quarry and panicked. 

It had been a sheer miracle that he had managed to get the hummer activated before the figures had completely fled into the maze of canyons outside of the compound.

“Setrya chu kanyi?” he hears one dark blob murmur to another as they waver uneasily back and forth, nothing but massive living shadows bleeding in and out of the darkness around them.

Whatever the leader has done, it must have been a sign of assent, because the cloaking suddenly washes away.

Allura sucks in a sharp breath behind him. “Detrichani…”

Coran too is left staring at the tall, reedy figures in front of him. “You… you still exist?” he asks, stunned.

“As do you, lost sire,” the leader says. “Much to our surprise as well.”

“Lost sire?” Keith questions, but Coran gently waves him off.

“How? The Castle records showed your planet as a Galran mining hole.”

“The clans scattered. Fled. We used our shadows and hid aboard trading ships leaving our world. This one’s family has been assisting the Okalla hunters for several generations. Many others have done the same.”

“Would you be willing to come back together?” Thace asks. “Not physically, but join the resistance network? You’ve already been fighting the Galra separately, this would give you back some of your community and let you do more of it.”

The three of them lean together head to head, whispering softly, then the leader smiles as they straighten back up. “The Utrichka Clan will be happy to see their lost sire. We will talk.”

—

“What did the Detrichani mean when they called you a lost sire?” Shiro asks as the castle follows their new allies’ ship to coordinates the three had given them.

“Back when Zarkon and I were serving out a tour on Delra Nine, we had a Detrichani warband mate named Kuamecchu,” Coran explains, eyes on his console to keep the castle on course. “Couple of years after our tour was over, but before I went into service at the castle, Kuamecchu asked me for help with a kut.”

Hunk looks up from his controls. “You’re a  _dad_?”

“Well, technically. Since Alteans can fully shapeshift species, I was the carrier.”

“I wonder how Kittri got along,” Allura murmurs wistfully, cutting into the awkward confusion that results. “I missed them so much after everything turned into such a mess.”

“Guess you’ll all have a lot to catch up on,” Pidge says as the wormhole’s end opened.

—

The area they had landed in was fairly arid, with most of the shade being provided by rocky outcrops. Once they’d disembarked to follow their guides, it wasn’t far at all before they could see that some of the shadows in the cliffsides were moving.

“Atkachai!” the leader of the Detrichani trio calls out. “Dua bui otchek!”

There is a long pause, then heads poke out of the darkness. 

Heads decorated in red dye and tattoos.

A very  _familiar_ shade of red.

“Otriaket?” one of the strangers calls back. 

“Nutkwe!”

Before any of them have time to even take their next breath, they are  _mobbed._

Or, to be more specific,  _Coran_ is mobbed, pracitically vanishing under a pile of curious kuts and their equally curious - _tall_ \- parents. Allura covers her mouth with both hands and bites her lip, trying to keep herself from laughing as the other Paladins just  _stare._

Finally, an extremely ruffled royal retainer pops out from under the melee. “It seems my family number has just increased exponentially,” he wheezes.

“It seems,” Allura agrees, trying to keep the giggle out of her voice. Behind her, Hunk snorts loudly and Pidge and Lance start cracking up.

“They’ve invited us all to dinner to discuss alliance.”

“That’s good.”

“I think three of the kuts have just been named after me.”

Allura gives in and starts laughing.


	16. Hunk and the Droids

There are ghosts in the lab.

Hunk has walked into the lab in the middle of a fight, silent shouts thrown back and forth as fiercely as the flying pieces of an unfinished machine, and he shrinks back against the wall, ducking a glowing gear of some kind that bounces off the wall without a sound.

Quickly making for the door, he fumbles for his communicator, ready to call Coran in a panic-

**[[Calm your elevated heart rate. Uncle is merely showing me memory recordings.]]**

Hunk freezes, startled by Triad’s voice coming from somewhere in the depths of the lab. “Recordings?”

The Green and Red Paladins jitter as if glitched, then freeze in the middle of their yelling, the smaller alien standing on a table to go nose to nose with the taller.

_Oh._

_“_ So… you guys are just watching home movies, then?” he asks, relieved, as he feels around through the hologram for one of the unseen chairs, then takes a seat. “Cool… Cool. Mind if I join?” 

He  _had_ been coming down to look for some of Joitree’s korifiliment stash, but  _this_ is way more interesting… if they will let him stay.

There is a series of twitters and beeps as the robots confer, then-  **[[Uncle is willing to share.]]**

“Sweet! So, uh, what was all this about?”

**[[The Yulnadae Joitree and The Orichian Mirje have been working on this project for ninety-two cycles, forty-three cliks, and sixteen tics with no sleep.]]**

Hunk winces, knowing all too well what kind of hell  _those_ kinds of builds were like. Sure enough, when the hologram resumes, the pair are  _passed out,_ Joitree starfished face-down in a pile of parts and Mirje sprawled in a chair, feet kicked up on a table as she snored. Unable to resist, he snorts and starts laughing, trying to cover his grin with his hand. 

And he keeps watching. 

As they worked. As they bickered. As they joked. 

They were… a lot like him and Pidge, really.

And they were gone. 

With only this lab and Smooshy and Shiro’s arm left behind them.

Because a friend had turned on them.

“Hey… Smooshy. You look after all this stuff. You made all these holograms. Do you miss them?  _Can_ you miss them?”

Another conversation he can't understand -he makes an internal resolution at that moment to learn droid so that he’d be able to talk to Smooshy himself- and then Triad speaks up.

**[[Unit Smooshy has been built according to the design specs of Oomekka, creator of the artificial soul. According to the law of souls, Creator Joitree would be Unit Smooshy's Mother. Her organic soul is gone. Only this artificial ghost remains. Therefore, Unit Smooshy misses the organic soul.]]**

_Damn…_ As the holograms fade, Hunk pickes his way around the lab to where the tall droid stands quietly, Triad floating beside him. He would swear Smooshy is  _drooping_ as he reaches up to pat the big guy’s metal casing. “Hey… you know what, though? I bet she’d be proud she built you so well that you could come up with such a poetic way to miss her.”

A long soft, boop.

**[[She would. This is comforting. Thank you.]]**


	17. The Blades

“He’s not… like that _all_ the time… is he?”

Thace looks up from the blaster rifle he's repairing to where Coran, his princess, and Aldri are nearly in hysterics watching Triad try to drag a shrieking Ylva into a particle bath with her tractor beam. “You mean-?”

The younger apprentice -Irechel, isn't it?- wrinkles his nose faintly. “He’s just so… not what I expected from the person in charge of all these operations. He acts like a cub.”

“I see. No. No, he isn’t like that all the time.” He clicks the chamber closed and checks the safety, then tests the trigger a few times to make sure it isn't still catching. “I suspect he does it to put his closest comrades at ease, since they are very much cubs themselves. I do admit, though-” he adds as he looks over to see Coran, still laughing, finally give in and rescue his smaller fellow tech, only for Ylva to promptly climb his back and hiss at Triad from behind him, “the difference is like night and day. I have never seen such a well-constructed mask before.”

“Hrm…”

—

Technically, he is not spying. After affirming their loyalties, the Princess and her Advisor had allowed them _nearly_ full-run of the castle.

He is just… _observing_ , that is all.

Kolivan always says that keeping one’s eyes and ears sharp were the way to the truth, doesn't he? 

Irechel nests himself silently in the shadows of the cables of the Lions’ hanger, well above the steel beasts. He has a prickly itch up his back that always makes him uncomfortable around them, even when they aren't looking at him and the other Blades.

Like they are always watching.

But no matter!

He has overheard from conversations between their spymaster and his Princess that her mother is returning from some important trip to several worlds. If Coran has indeed worked for the previous royals as well, this is a prime chance to see what sort of mask he uses in front of the old Altean Queen.

The hissing of the far control doors alerts him to his quarry’s approach, and he flattens his ears to lower his profile, crouching deeper into his nest as Coran comes into the hanger with a cheerful whistling tune.

A blast of air from the bay doors opening suddenly makes him regret his hiding place, and he clings to the cables to keep from getting thrown free, glaring down at the Altean who seems to have no trouble keeping his footing. Gritting his teeth, Irechel resolutely digs his claws in and stays put, waiting for-

- _not_ the enthusiastic hug he sees, the dark-haired woman from the ship barely touching the floor before she and the advisor are swinging each other around in glee. 

“Ah, Illy, as always, you’re a sight for sore eyes!”

“Hah! You say that _now,_ Red, but just you _wait-”_

 _What in the-_ that is _not_ the behavior he expected the Altean to treat his superior with. The Princess, perhaps, because she is a cub, but surely the old Queen was of his age or-

And just like that, before his confusion has even abated, the two are walking away arm in arm, heads together like old friends… or old conspirators.

Scowling, Irechel creeps along the cables, trying to get a better view. 

What he sees almost… _frightens_ him.

Gone are the two cubs at play, and in their places are a pair of seasoned war leaders, expressions as cold stone and serious as the words he can't hear. 

And in a heartbeat, they are… _laughing_ again!

Is _this_ what Thace had meant?

But no! No one had been watching but him and the Lions! And surely they had not known of his presence!

But then…

Then that means…

Irechel shivers as he watches them go, trying to put this new development together.

Adult Alteans are truly an unnerving species.


	18. Coran and Illyere - Three

They weren’t a danger to the systems, nor the shields, but the sweeping pressures of the Betruvian Nebula storm made the walls of the castle give off a droning groan that sets his teeth on edge.

How the Paladins and Allura can sleep through it, he has no idea, but he is envious.

At least one other person is as miserably awake as he was, though he feels a bit guilty about being glad for the company as he and Illyere huddle in one of the old training halls, the only place where the noise is somewhat dulled.

His former liege curses softly under her breath as she burrows herself deeper into the blankets wrapped around her and takes a sharp swig from one of the many steaming bottles of Trippanian Smoke Beer they’d brought with them to keep warm. “How much longer until it passes?”

Coran taps a datapad lying on the floor between them, squinting at the sigils, then groans. “A good four more cycles at least.”

“ _Sch’tai_ ,” Illyere hisses, clutching the bottle tighter. “ _Hate_ storms.”

He takes a drink from his own bottle, then wraps a sympathetic arm around her shoulders, letting her burrow in close and grumble as they finish off their drinks and start another round.

“You know the storm never stopped there?” she mumbles several bottles later, resting her head on his shoulder.

“The whole time? Not even once?” Coran asks. He's slurring a bit, but not too drunk to not notice it, and… and what? Curious? Maybe a little curious. Curious about the  _Curiosity,_ hah. 

“Not even once. I was so mad.  _Soooo_ mad. The winds were so  _loud_  and it was so  _cold_ and the crew was  _always_  on my case and tret’ _chai_ couldn’t I just get a little _peace_  to be _sick_?”

“Sick?” He sits up a little straighter in surprise, pulling her up with him in the process. Suddenly he feels a whole lot more sober, even with the alcohol still in his system. “You were sick? That wasn’t in the tech’s log. Why were you sick?”

Illyere blinks up at him blurrily, tilts her head and pulls away, her expression… strange. 

“Illy?”

She drains the last of the bottle, then stares down into the empty blackness of it. “Did you know…” she asks, slurring perhaps more than necessary, “-that when a full-blooded Mabarka loses a babe, the birth chamber is absorbed back into the body?” 

Coran stares at her in dawning horror as she throws the bottle across the room and viciously grabs another, cracking it open. 

“It’s all an unknown with us  _mixed-breeds_  though, isn’t it? Whole… new… set of rules.”

He swallows, then, just to kill the uncomfortable dryness that had risen up in his throat, takes another drink. “Did…  _he_ know?”

“Hah, nope,” she says in a brittle little giggle, eyes suspiciously wet. “I wanted… I wanted to surprise him once I was sure they’d be viable-”

_They? Two!?_

“-so I didn’t say a word. I think… I think Dracha figured it out? Oh, I can’t remember now,” she says, tears now visibly leaking into the laughter. “But I didn’t- I didn’t-” He drops his drink and catches her as she breaks down sobbing. “I should have  _said_ something! Why was I such an idiot!?”

Coran bites his lip and squeezes her fiercely. “You weren’t an idiot,” he insists. “Nobody could have predic- pred- seen  _that_ coming.”

Claws dig into his clothing and he rocks her back and forth, like he used to do to Allura, until tears give way to hiccups and the faded droning from outside has once more become the most prevalent noise in the room. Finally, a muffled sniff comes from somewhere in the bundle of blankets and hair he's holding, and Illyere pulls back, scrubbing at her face.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” she mutters dryly, but it's accompanied with a tiny snort of laughter, and that is  _something._ Her eyes practically look bruised, and her markings have turned a weird bluish color from all the crying. “I still feel like…” She groans, then rakes her hair out of her face harshly. “Don’t tell Allura.”

“I won’t.”

“ _Coran_.”

He eyes his spilled bottle on the floor, then picks up two fresh and hands one to her after cracking the seals.

“May I burn, may I burn, a thousand times burn, should one unsworn this secret ever learn,” they recite in unison, before tipping their bottles to each other’s mouths. 

Satisfied, Illyere takes another swig from hers, then makes a noise somewhere between coughing and laughing. “Remember when Zarkon chided Alfor and me for using children’s rhymes the first time he heard us promise that in the original Mabarka?”

Coran chuckles over the rim of his. “Then he turned whiter than the cliffs of Khouvar when you explained what it meant. Yes, I do.”

When the bottles are empty, she hunkers against his side once more, clearly burned out after the emotional outburst. “I wanted to ask Alfor if we could name them Phia’bi and Daila,” she murmurs, on the verge of dozing.

“Your Amai’s name and the famous archaeologist? I think he would have liked that. Especially if the nobles protested,” Coran says with a grin, beginning to feel sleepy himself.

“Mmhmm, exactly.”

And they drift off in the nest of blankets and bottles and old memories, with the storm still raging outside.


	19. Pidge

“What is  _that_?”

Pidge jumps slightly then tries to shove the bag under the desk. “What’s what?” she asks innocently. When Keith merely raises an eyebrow, she sighs and pulls it back out. “Okay, okay, it kind of followed me back to the castle,” she mutters, lifting the flap to reveal the creature.

“But what  _is_ it?” he asks, peering at it suspiciously. The thing just yawns in response to his inspection, mouth taking up nearly half its body size. 

That's a lot of teeth.

“I’m not sure yet. Nothing I’ve found in the castle’s archives for this planet matches, but I don’t know if they’ve gotten updated yet. Could be a hybrid, or an evolutionary offshoot. Or something that got dumped off a passing ship, which would make this a lot harder. But I couldn’t just leave it there all alone!”

“Looks like it would get along just fine to me.”

“Seriously!? How could you just-”

“ _Fssk!”_

They both jump in surprise at the sudden hiss, then look down to find Thatchia bristling at the newcomer, all her fur on end as she hides behind Keith’s ankle.

“Hey, don’t be a jerk, Tha-”

“ _Snrrrl!”_

With a sharp wet  _snap,_ the creature Pidge held flicks out the longest tongue either human has ever seen, wrapping it around the now-shrieking kittekirri. On reflex, Keith draws his knife, barely saving the panicked puffball from becoming a  _snack_ to the newcomer, but that only seems to piss  _it_ off, and the severed tongue flops uselessly on the ground as it kicks itself free from Pidge’s hold and gives chase after its hissing prey out the door.

For a moment, the two humans just stare each other. 

Then both throw themselves out into the hallway after the creatures.

“Nice going, Pidge!”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to try to  _eat_ her!?”

“Doesn’t matter now, we gotta stop it before Coran kills us  _both_ for putting his pet on the menu!”

\---

_Day One:_

Food apology attempt a total failure. Subject stole the kuakua jerky, hissed at me, attempted to bite me, then vanished into the vents.

_Day Two:_

**[REDACTED]**

_Day Three:_

Enlisted Shiro’s help. He got the subject calmed down enough for me to offer the jerky. Subject accepted, but hissed at me and fled when petting attempted. No biting. Progress?

_Day Four:_

Was unable to find subject at all, even with Smooshy and Triad’s assistance. Need to study castle ventilation and tunnel system better.

_Day Five:_

**[REDACTED]**

_Day Six:_

Recovering from setback. Enlisted Coran’s help. Subject accepted jerky and further offerings of roasted putricha meat. Permitted one head pat before hissing and fleeing. Definite progress!

_Day Seven:_

Upgrading offerings to baked utrani legs. Subject allows petting as long as being fed. Likes being talked to. Seems to accept verbal apology? Left when food ran out, but did not hiss.

_Day Eight:_

Further verbal apologies while feeding. Thatchia allowed five minutes of continued petting after food ran out. I got a purr! Just one, but I got a purr!

_Day Nine:_

Coran’s advice to just be calm and let Thatchia set the pace seems to be working. After feeding, Thatchia even allowed ten minutes of lap time. No purring this time, but it seems she is finally warming up to me. No further experimentation or testing. I  _really_ don’t want to piss her off again now that I know how much that beak of hers hurts. Log closed.


	20. Foolish Invaders

“ _tratchik!”_

Rruktran’s eyestalks turn at the hissed curse of its squadmate, <<Problem?>>

<<Something bit me!>> the other Latronka growls, clutching its third ankle with a claw. 

<<Unless it’s bleeding, ignore it. We have a job to do.>>

<<Tch. Fine. The sooner we get out of this creepy palace of ghosts, the better.>>

They move silently through the darkened halls, with only the dim green glow of the emergency lights for illumination. So much the better, since all of them could see just fine in the shadows-

_< <Ow!>>_

<<Pnnatchka, if you don’t->> Rruktran cuts off the rebuke when it sees a small shadow shuffle off around a corner at high speed. Hissing softly, it raises its proton rifle and signales the others to do the same. There shouldn’t have been  _anyone_ aboard, the crew occupied with the diversionary attack their allies had set up on the ridge to the north-

“ _Fssk!”_

Just as it rounds the corner, the small shadow drops onto Rruktran’s head, sharp beak latching into its face right below its left eyestalk. Screeching in pain, it reels back, trying to shake the  _thing_ free, but it only bites down  _harder-_

**[[Unidentified Intruders located. Thank you for your assistance, Thatchia.]]**

A deep chiming hum sounds from behind it, followed by chatters of alarm from its squadmates, and the creature suddenly flings itself free with a loud hiss. Snarling, Rruktran turns to aim its rifle at the small attacker-

And finds itself staring instead at a floating ovaloid droid, single eye glowing back at it ominously.

“Mwyerr!”

A pulse of bright purple light bursts in Rruktran’s vision.


	21. Illyere and the New Paladins - Two

The wind is  _howling._

Keith huddles deeper into the hooded poncho their hosts had given him and peers through the binoculars, only to see whipping arcs of sand. If the others are smart, they aren't going to be coming back out to the outpost tonight, he figures, and shoves them into a sling.

God, he hates storms.

He climbs back down into the main part of the bunker, protectively dug into the side of the cliff, then folds his arms to wrap the fabric tighter around him. It won’t make any difference heat-wise with him wearing his armor, but it makes him feel better nonetheless. 

He can almost pretend it shut out the droning from outside.

The Queen is sitting with some of their hosts in the main hall, apparently studying. He frowns slightly to himself and decides to give her a wide berth.

He just isn’t-

They aren’t-

It still isn’t-

He blows out a frustrated breath, making a couple of the long-necked aliens close by raise their heads from their work. “Nothing. Ignore me,” he says, and they look at each other, then shrug and go back to whatever they're doing with their welding torches.

Decision made -and not thinking about it or second-guessing himself at  _all,_ thanks- he swings wide to stick to the wall as he makes his way around the cavern, but he happens to glance and-

-she isn’t reading.

The blank, dead-eyed stare directed at some point of the wall near him is  _really_ creepy. And worrying. Was… 

No… 

No, he knows that look. He’s seen that look before. On Shiro.

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, then hesitantly edges closer. “Uh. Your… your…uh, your majesty?”

There's no response, just little ruts being scratched by sharp claws into the sides of the datapad she was holding, but there is something else that made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

That  _howl._

He looks up and finds that they're right under the vents that go to the top of the cliff. 

And it clicks.

Keith sucks in a breath as he remembers the freezing storm on the rogue planet where the  _Curiosity_ had lain, then glances around. No one seems to be paying attention…

He flops down onto the seat next to the Queen.

She starts sharply, inhaling in a hiss through her teeth, and he hopes those claws weren’t about to rip into his face. But after a moment, she seems to become…  _herself_ again, and lays the datapad in her lap, looking around in confusion before her gaze comes to rest on him. “...Paladin?” she asks after a moment of hesitation, apparently at a loss for his name in her current state.

He can’t really be offended about it, he decides, considering he’d made a point to avoid her before. “Hi,” he says with a stupid little wave. “I don’t like storms either. Bad memories.”

“Ah… I see. Well, then, you’re welcome to sit for a bit,” she says, every bit the gracious host. Like he hadn’t just seen her turn into a trapped animal. Like she isn’t subtly snuggling deeper into her fur cloak against the ever-constant shriek of the wind above them.

Maybe he'll ask her to teach him that trick sometime, he thinks. “Yeah, okay. I think I will.”


	22. Cousins - Three

Sometimes, he wakes in the night hearing screaming.

Distant, crackling screaming, the sound of a communication line being broken by radiation waves as hell rains down from the sky, and he nearly falls out of bed, familiar names choked from his mouth before he remembers their owners-

Dead. 

Long, long dead. 

Breath stuttering painfully in his chest, he huddles back against his bed. Dazed, disoriented, his gaze finds the etched metal plate hanging above his night table, its geometric patterns of lines and angular flowers almost painful to look at.

Flowers that navigated the secret castle niches with him, laughed at stuffy nobles with him, grew up with him…

That vanished on the day the moons fell. 

Gone.

Gone.

_Gone._

His stomach twists and his lungs hurt and he squeezes his eyes shut to fight back the urge to be sick as his heart pounds fast,  _too_ fast.

It doesn’t help, because all he can see is imagined visions of terrified last moments, huddled together and shrieking for help that will never come because he should have  _been there he should have **been there** -_

 _“Hrrrew_?”

He starts sharply, jerking away from the thing that plops against his chest, only to realize that Thatchia has woken and clambered from her nest. “Oh-! Oh, it’s you. Sorry, girl, am I being-”

“ _Mrrrn.”_

He blinks in surprise as she shuffles up to shove herself under his chin and starts to purr with all the force her small form can muster, then, slowly, leans back against the bed, relief a sweet hum in his nerves as he realizes her intent. “Oh,” he murmurs, reaching up to scratch her ears, the tension that had seized his body beginning to ease. “Thank you.”

“Mrrew.”

It won’t stop the nightmares. They’ll come again, he knows, because they’ve come and come and come so often before. The faces of family lost, twisted in agony and haunting a fevered, guilty mind.

But he’ll take what reprieve he can get.


	23. The Royals - Two

Rubbing the back of her neck with a groan of frustration, Allura drags herself out of the lifts and heads towards the hall where the assorted sleeping chambers for the royal family are. Though she’d mostly been staring at the floor, a flash of color makes her look up to see her mother further down the hall, heading towards the room she’d claimed as her new quarters since her return. Perking up, she quickens her pace, and lunges just as Illyere taps the door command.

“Wh- _oof!”_

They both stumble through the doorway and fall onto the bed, her mother’s laughter instantly improving her mood. Even so, Allura squirms onto her back, her head resting in her mother’s lap, and puts on her most pitiful face. “Scratch my head?” she asks plaintively.

Still chuckling, Illyere complies, claws loosening her hair from her bun as they lightly graze over her scalp. “The diplomatic talks were that much fun, were they?”

“How could you tell?” Allura asks dryly.

“Your father used to be the same way whenever he absolutely couldn’t take _any_ more of the Governors’ squabbling.” Illyere replies with a fond smile.

Allura scrunches her nose at that. Sure, she _knew_ her father’d had a silly side… he’d been her  _father,_ after all, but trying to imagine Alfor, the Great Negotiator of Altea, miserably begging his wife for a head scratch because of complaining nobles is a little beyond her imagination. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” she says, then notices the bundle on the bed. The one her mother had been carrying before she’d pounced. “What’s that?”

Illyere reaches over with her free hand and picks it up, setting it in Allura’s lap, and the princess curiously undoes the ties, leaning up a little to peer inside. “These are-!”

“From my old office, yes,” her mother says, taking out an unfinished doll of Ku’kkri. “Since I have some time on my hands while we’re making sure Coran’s fully recuperated and you’re all busy planetside, I thought I’d use some materials I found in inventory to get these little fellows completed and maybe make some more. Old hobbies die hard, I suppose.”

Allura bites her lip through a smile, feeling her eyes sting as she reaches up to touch one of Doll Ku’kkri’s stitched horns. She’d never gotten to meet the toy’s namesake, but she remembers… the doll was going to be a turning present before… “May I stay while you work?”

Her mother leans down and kisses the tip of her ear, making her snort in ticklish laughter. “Of course, sweetbug. You know you’re always allowed to tag along.”

She moves out of her mother’s lap to let her get up to retrieve supplies, wrapping herself around a pillow so she can watch. 

The tilt of the lamp above the bed.

The flash of the needles and threads.

The deft movements of long fingers and claws.

This is…

A slow, sleepy smile touches her mouth when she recognizes the tune her mother is humming. It has been so long since even Coran has sung it for her, and now…

She reaches out, curling her fingers into the thick cloth of her mother’s skirts, and the humming slows, but doesn't stop as a shadow leans over her and a kiss is pressed to her forehead.

Warm and comfortable in a way she had nearly forgotten, Allura sleeps.

—

Glad to be out of combat practice, Allura finds her mother curled up and napping on one of the lounges in what had once been the maids’ break room and hesitates in the doorway, the scrollcase she carries clutched against her chest. Biting her lip, she tiptoes close, then yelps in surprise when an arm shoots out, dragging her down into the burrow of mock-fur cloak.

“Hello, daughter dear,” Illyere says, one glowing eye slitted open and an impish grin on her face.

Allura can't help laughing as she tries to get her ruffled clothing and hair back in order, then snuggles properly against her mother. “Were you even asleep at all?”

“I was. But your father tried that trick far too often when he came home from trips, and my instincts are still sharp.” The former queen yawns, showing off all her sharp teeth, then leans up on her elbow. “What’s that you’ve brought with you?”

Allura rolls onto her back and activates the holo-scroll. “One of the inter-world cultural exchanges Father facilitated. I wanted to read the one on Mabarka healing practices, but there are sections I can’t-.”

Her mother sits up straight and stares at her. “It’s on  _what_?”

“You… didn’t know?”

“I…  _no,_ I didn’t. There  _wasn’t_ one when I-. Let me see?”

Sitting up as well, Allura hands it over, trying to fight back the feeling of cold apprehension that swells in her chest as her mother skims down the lines and pictures. Had her father done something  _wrong_ by putting the information on file? Broken something sacred? Offended a treaty?

The chill bursts, however, when Illyere begins laughing weakly, wiping at watery eyes. “Mother?” Allura asks, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“That sentimental old sap,” Illyere chokes, scrubbing a sleeve across her face. “He went to all this trouble and- that’s just like him.”

“What is it?”

Her mother taps a tiny paragraph of scratches and it separates from the scroll in larger script. “Ahem, _‘From the House of Kim’channa to the Mate of the Kinswoman Queen. In the spirit of respect and friendship to the House of Quu’kalla, we share with you our ancient traditions. In the spirit of bonding, we share them in our mother tongue, in the hopes that our Kinswoman Princess will be allowed to learn the path as she properly should.’_ “

“What does that mean?”

“They wanted him to send you to them to learn what the scroll meant and then they’d teach you themselves. Clearly something must have come up if he didn’t.”

_A lot of somethings_ , Allura thinks, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You learned, didn’t you? What’s in the scroll.”

Her mother reaches up with her free hand, gently carding claws through her hair. “I did indeed. Quickest in my family to do so,” she adds with a little pride. “My brother did fairly well at it, too, since we both took more after our father, but I was the best at the pilgrimages.”

“Do… you think  _we_ could do them? The pilgrimages, whatever they are?”

“Hm. That’s… a very good question. I’m not sure if the shrines still exist. But… I could look during my next voyage. And if they’re still living, then I would be  _proud_ to take you.”

Allura smiles and relaxes. “Until then, can you show me what’s in the scroll?”

“Of course I will, sweetbug.”

 

—

Wind whips sand around their ankles and faces, and her mother shows her how to wrap her hood-scarf tighter. She obeys and folds her gloved hands protectively under her arms as they soldiers on, huddling deep in their cloaks.

Even under the blazing sun, the desert is cold.

It hadn’t always been that way, her mother had told her when they had stopped to shelter in some ruins and eat. Once under the hot sun, life had thrived. Oases had birthed cities, cities had birthed dynasties. 

Mabarka had been beautiful, until the Galra had decided it was a worthless backwater.

It wasn’t very hard to believe, looking out at what had remained of a trading waytown and running her fingers over sandblasted stone and finding ancient blaster scorches that hadn’t yet been lost to time. 

They stumble half blind out of the wind into what looks like an ordinary cave. 

Until a sharp grinding noise alerts her to the door closing behind them. “Mother-!”

“Calm, daughter mine,” her mother replies as the darkness closes them in.

And once the last shaft of light from outside vanishes, she understands.

Small yellow and orange crystals in the walls, reacting to their presence, sparkle in the walls like torch flame, lighting only the room around them. “Hold a moment before you try anything,” Illyere says, reaching out to take one. 

Allura watches, fascinated, as her mother pricks her finger, then presses the bloody tip of the crystal into a well on the floor, and more crystals begin to light for them as they walk forward through the hall. “That’s… _clever_. So that’s how you knew the shrines were still alive? They woke when you checked the blood seal?”

“Mmhmm. These places are very well trapped for anyone not of Mabarka blood. I wouldn’t have put it past the Galra to just destroy them once they lost a few soldiers, but apparently they decided they weren’t worth the firepower.”

“Lucky us,” Allura murmurs, watching the crystals light up in gentle patterns, whirling like the sands outside and building geometric forms like the destroyed buildings they had found. 

A small, tingling, prickling pain rises up in her chest as she listens to their footsteps echo through the long hall, surrounded by the soft tinkling of the activating crystals.

Another whole  _family_ she could have met.

Another whole  _world_ she could have experienced.

And outside they had been reduced to koilsa-bombed  _ruins_ just like her original family-

An arm wraps around her shoulders and a hand takes hold of hers, squeezing gently, and she sucks in a sharp breath as she stops walking and looks at her mother.

Here. 

 _One_ of them is still here. 

“Mama-”

Her mother just hugs her tight when she buries her face in her neck and breaks down in a howl. “Don’t be ashamed, baby, just let it all out.”

—

“I’m an idiot.”

“Not really. This place has a different affect on everyone the first time.”

Allura sniffles and stays right where she is, burrowed into her mother’s side as they sit against the wall. “Five-turned don’t cry like that.”

“Most five-turned haven’t been through what you have.”

“You’re not supposed to keep justifying this.”

“I missed out on a couple hundred years of spoiling, I think we’re both entitled. Shush.”

Allura shushes and wipes her eyes with her wrap-gloved hand, then instantly regrets it. “ _Augh, sand!”_

Poorly hiding her laughter, Illyere hands her a water cana and cloth from their packs, and Allura gratefully swipes them to clean out her eyes. “Ugh, let’s get on with this before I embarrass myself anymore,” she grumbles, getting to her feet and offering her mother a hand.

—

“How many chambers are in this place?”

“Before they had to be abandoned, each shrine had a thriving little coven of minders. So besides the primary chamber where pilgrims went to commune with the planet’s spirit, there were meditation chambers, kitchens, sleeping quarters, and so forth.”

“Can we go look at them… after?”

Her mother gives her a lopsided grin. “Have my archaeologist genes finally rubbed off on you?”

“I’m just curious! It’s not a big deal… _maybe_.”

The orange and yellow crystals ripple ahead of them, becoming joined with blue as they suddenly flare wide, sweeping out to decorate a massive rotunda hewn into the stone of the cave like a glittering starry mosaic. Allura can't help the soft gasp that rises in her throat at the sight. “Is this-?”

“We’re here,” her mother agrees softly, setting her packs down at the beginning of a bridge. 

Whatever water may have been there has long since dried away, leaving only a dark pit under the stone bridge that crossed from either side of the cave to a wide circular floor in the center. When Allura follows her mother out to the center, they find a place that, despite the gathered dust, has clearly been worn by many hands and knees, and ten wells. 

“Ready?”

Allura takes several slow, deep breaths. “Ready.”

“There’s no need to be afraid. Just remember the ritual I showed you, and treat it like meditation.”

 _Treat it like meditation, treat it like meditation, treat it like meditation…_ She takes the little bag Illyere offers and finds ten small pink crystals. 

Okay, here goes nothing.

She kneels down on the knee markings, then one by one, she pricks each of her fingers and puts a bloody crystal tip into a well. Then she puts her hands into the hand markings and closes her eyes.

_“Hulimere, your last child beseeches you. Will you hear my plea?”_

Nothing?

Nothing.

Noth-  _oh._

Disappointment is washed away as a soft, warm light  _blooms_ behind her eyes, and she sucks in air at the feel of sweet-smelling, bright desert winds, of comforting campfires, of delicious water on a hot day.

Of laughter, of love, of seeing family and friends after a long journey, of treasured things found after being lost.

Of  _life._

 _“Safeguard the gift, child_.”

Allura jerks away from the kneeling place and thuds against something, gasping for air and dizzy, but feeling a humming energy surging through her. Dazed, she stares up into the face of her mother from the position of leaning against her legs. 

“I think I passed.”

Her mother grins upside down at her. “So it would seem. Welcome to your first official step as a Mabarka Healer, daughter mine.”

Allura manages a weak little laugh before her world goes black.


	24. Lance and the Nerd Sisters

“Hey, you guys busy?”

Ylva is seated on a short scaffolding next to Triad’s recharge harness, using a small blower and hook tool to clean out the ovaloid-shaped droid’s panels. Over at another console, Aldri is running a series of checks on…  _something._ At Lance’s question, however, both look over, Ylva’s ears twitching forward.

“Just normal maintenance stuff,” she says, raising her focus goggles. “What do you need?”

“Just a question… okay, this has been driving me nuts ever since the Lions brought us out here, but… Galra armor.”

“What about it?” Aldri asks, leaning back in her chair.

“The…  _face_. Is it a Zarkon ego thing, or-” Lance’s voice dies off as Ylva starts to snicker, and he gives the scruffy female a confused look.

A confusion that isn't abated in the slightest when the two sisters look at each other, then erupt into full blown cackling, the smaller of the pair hunching over with her forehead resting against the floor of the scaffolding as she howls, and the older nearly in tears and clutching her stomach.

“Oh- oh, shekai…” Aldri wheezes as they came down from the high, and Ylva makes a godawful snort before dissolving into giggles again. “You have no idea what you just asked.”

“Okay, now I  _have_ to know,” Lance says, dragging over a chair and plopping down, chin in his hands and eyes wide in eager excitement. “ _Spill_.”

“Alright, alright. To begin with, there were the Bakthaxu-”

“ _Ugly_  jokkrai, they were,” Ylva cuts in.

“-indeed. They held the entirity of the Ferronti Star System… here.” Aldri pulls up a three-dimensional star map on the console, drawing out a segment with her pen tool.

Lance whistles. “That’s a pretty hefty chunk of real estate.”

“Which is _exactly_ why the Empire wanted to stomp them out. Problem was, they were legendary for two things. Their lack of fear, and the designs of their wings, which they replicated on their armor.”

Lance glances over at the Galra scientist. “Oh no. This isn’t going where I think it is, is it?”

Ylva starts to snicker again as Aldri flashes him a fanged grin. “ _Two hundred and t_ _wenty years_ of research and almost ninety per cent of the armoring budget went into developing those suits, specifically to strike fear into the Bakthaxu.”

With a hearty groan, Lance scrubs his hands over his face. “So… why still _wear_ them? I mean, this had to be a long time ago, right?”

“Well, at first, it was to save face,” Ylva says, still snickering a bit. “I mean, would  _you_ blow that kind of money and time and not pretend you meant to do it all along?”

“Hell, no.”

“Exactly.”

“Now, I think it’s pretty much just tradition. Practically no one remembers  _how_ we beat the Bakthaxu anymore, just that we took their territory. _Vais_ , the only reason  _we_ knew was because Master Relchevar told us the story as a reminder against wasteful spending by upper management.”

Lance snorts. “No kidding.” Damn, who’d have thought the scariest conquerors in the universe were just as shitty at budgeting as the Garrison? 

Hunk was gonna have a fit when he told him about this.


	25. Illyere and the New Paladins - Three

“I hate to say it, but you’re not much of an artist.”

Lance jumps nearly a foot and almost throws the stolen holostick in panic before he realizes it is only the disguised Illyere leaning over his shoulder, an all too seriously critical expression on her face. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, regaining his nerve. “Then how would  _you_ do it?”

She grins at the challenge. “Well, if you  _really_ want to bring out his… more distinguishing features…”

—

“Has anyone seen Mother?” Allura asks, fluttering around anxiously in her Turimonquan disguise. “I lost her around the Gurimekku merchant stalls.”

“That’s unfortunately normal,” Coran says with a sigh as he checks the inventory of their purchases. “She probably found some old scrolls or relics that caught her eye. More than likely she’ll find us again before we find her.”

“Lance is missing, too,” Shiro says, looking over the crowds to see if he can catch sight of their disguises. 

“We have the Tretchaki port-spanners he was supposed to pick up, so he’s dropped by at least once. Hmm…”

“Sorry we’re late!” calls a cheery voice, and they all turn to see their missing members trotting up, carrying a light-flat tube each.

Coran squints at them both. “You’re looking suspicious. _You_ especially,” he adds, pointing his stylus at the grinning ex-queen. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, just doing some bonding exercises,” she replies too innocently. “You _did_ want me to make friends with the rest of the crew, after all.”

Lance does a poor job of trying to mask his laughter, and Shiro and Allura scowled at him. 

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro says warningly.

“Okay, okay.” He taps the button to activate the holo-poster he's carrying.

Three jaws drop as the Immortal Emperor stares back at them, his ears elongated to impossible proportions, his eyes transformed to doe-adorable mirrors, and his fangs tripled in number. 

And then there is the mustache and eyebrow combination that put even Coran’s to shame.

“How many of those did you  _do_?” Shiro asks, somewhere between awed and horrified as Allura starts to laugh.

“How many  _did_ we do?” Lance asks Illyere.

“I wasn’t keeping track. Ten, twenty?”

Allura wheezes, managing to get herself back under control. “Do we have time to do more?” she pleads, giving Coran The Face. “They’re such works of art, it’d be a pity not to share in the fun.”

He snorts, then slowly a grin crosses his face. “Well… I suppose once we send the supplies up to the castle, we could take a  _little_ bit longer in the market.”


	26. Thatchia and the Crew

“So, it looks like you two have finally made friends.”

Pidge looks up from her console as Allura takes a seat, then gives a lopsided grin and puts down another kepru cracker for Thatchia to vacuum up. “Yeah, kinda. I think I’m still on probation, but as long as I let her call the shots, she’s not hissing at me.”

Allura chuckles and bends down to scoop the kittekirri up into her lap, beginning to scratch her behind the ears. “No more mysterious stowaway pets?”

“No more experiments either,” Pidge agrees ruefully. “Even though I didn’t do anything _invasive_. I just wanted to study her species biology.”

“Fssk.”

“I think that’s either a disagreement your denial of invasion, or a demand for another cracker,” Allura says, amused, and Pidge makes a face at the puffball before handing one over. “I do admit some confusion myself, though. From what I remember, their eating habits usually fuel their budding. She eats just as much as any other kittekirri, and yet we’re not drowning in them.”

“…Huh.” Pidge rests her chin in her hands, leaning forward. “That does sound weird. Maybe it has to do with the ship’s climate? Or the experiences that lead her to Coran? Or- Nope! Train of thought is ending right there! I just got myself out of the biting zone, I’m not going back!”

“What if you tried  _asking_ first this time?”

Pidge bites her lip and stares at the kittekirri, whose ears twitch back. Temptation twists in her stomach and brain…  _dang_. “Thatchia. If I don’t hurt you, could I poke at you just a  _little_ bit? Just to see how you work? I’ll give you treats the whole time.”

“Nyurr.”

“…I can’t tell if that’s a yes or not.”

“Well, she didn’t hiss at you.”

“Ugh. All the same, I’m wearing really heavy gloves this time.”

-

“Mnrr.”

Thace pauses, ration cracker halfway to his mouth, and looks around for the source of the noise. Nothing.

“ _Mnrr.”_

Then he looks down and found a grey puff of fur flicking its ears at him. “You… belong, to Coran, do you not?” he asks, vaguely remembering having seen the Altean carrying it around a few times.

“Nyerr.”

“Hm. What do you want? Food?” He breaks off a piece of the cracker, then crouches down. “I warn you, our rations are meant for survival, not taste.”

The creature snuffles at it, then shuffles over it to devour it-

\- and spits back out smaller chunks with a disgusted hiss.

He can't help chuckling. “I _did_ warn you.”

“Those must be exceptional,” a familiar voice says behind him, and he straightens up to see Coran approaching. “I can count on one hand the things she’s refused to eat.”

“Oh? Out of how many?” Thace asks as the creature continues to hiss at the ration pieces. He reaches out to scratch its -her- ears in apology, and she leans up into it with a snuffling noise that is apparently acceptance.

“Lost count of  _that,”_ Coran says, amused, as he bends down to scoop up his pet. “Come on, let’s get you both some real food.”

Well, he can't argue with that.

-

Elakka doesn’t even look up at the insistent thumping noise from behind her. “No.”

“Mwyeeeeerrrrrrrr…”

“Klaka says you stay in that tank until they’re done cleaning all your hair out of the castle’s vents.”

The kittekirri makes another despondent whine, and that time she does raise her gaze from the circuits she's soldering. “Holy gli-” Throwing her tools down, the Yulnadae hops off her hover chair and runs over to the tank, activating a blower to suck all the hair that the puffball has  _somehow_ managed to shed in one short cycle out into a secondary chamber and out the airlock vent.

Then she crouches down and squints at Thatchia. The critter doesn’t even look any  _less_ hairy, just… whiter? “How are you not  _bald_ by now? You left hair in the vents of five hundred and twenty two rooms covering seventeen stories. And then  _this.”_

“Nyeennnnn.”

“Hm. No wonder you’re a fur trade species.”

_“Fssk!”_

“Hey, I am merely pointing out the logic- and why am I  _arguing_ with you, anyway?” Elakka straightens up and reaches over to set the blower on a timer. “There. That should at least keep you from burying yourself again.”

“Nyuurr?”

“You’re still staying in there until Klaka says otherwise.”

She is absolutely sure the creature manages to razz at her, despite having no tongue.

-

The deep thrumming growl that reverberates throughout the room is a noise that honestly disturbs even a few of the seasoned Marmora agents with them.

Particularly considering that it is coming from the puff of fluff that had, until just three days ago, been her normal snuffling and squeaking self as she skittered about the ship. 

“Is… that  _normal_ nesting behavior?” Kolivan asks, eyeing Thatchia as though she might sprout a second head and take his arm off.

And, considering the circumstances, for all they know, she just  _might._

_“Ah…_ sort of?” Coran says as he pulled on the gloves Elakka brought him from the Old Paladin lab. The  _armored_ ones. “They do tend to be highly protective of newly-budded pups. But I’ve never seen one… well,  _adopt,_ before.”

And yet, here they all are, Thatchia huddled on the abandoned brood of Byrnamini eggs that had somehow been part of the prison rescue and fit to be tied.

A sharp, vicious  _snarl_ breaks into the rhythm of rumbling, and they all jump away, especially the unlucky Marmoran initiate who has entirely accidentally gotten within whatever defensive “bubble” of space Thatchia has designated as "hers".

Elakka winces, ears twitching. “I’m getting tongs.  _Long_ ones.”

Coran swallows nervously and tries not to think about the fact that his favored medic is still in cryo. "The reinforced ones, if you please."

“Right, on it.”

-

Hunk pokes his head into the containment room to find Pidge furiously typing away at a datapad as Thatchia snuffles among the blind chicks. “What’d she do now?” he asks cautiously, a little concerned as to what might have caused so much scientific curiosity.

“She’s regurgitating food for them! Do you have any idea how important that is? She’s  _never_ given up food! Well, except for that one time Coran said the Marmora rations were too gross even for her, but I’ve set that as an anomaly because seriously, have you  _tasted_ those-”

“Geez, come up for air!” Putting down the wires he’d been carrying, Hunk comes in to peer over her shoulder at the compiled data. “Okay, so that tells us she’s really serious about this parenting thing, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. They’ve completely imprinted on her, I think by sound, since they’ve started trying to imitate the noises she makes.”

“Then the question is, is that good or bad?”

“Coran’s said it should be pretty harmless. They won’t get very big, and the worst we should have to deal with is that they act like kittekirri instead of biryamini.”

“Huh.” Hunk leans on the edge of the tank and Thatchia sniffs in his direction. He pats his pockets, coming up with a packet of kepru crackers, and opens it up to toss her several. 

“Regurgitation” thankfully turns out to be a lot less gross than he’s been expecting from having seen other birds. Thatchia just crushes up the crackers into little crumbs with her beak, then guides the chicks over to the piles with some gentle shoving so they can peck them up themselves.

“If they start acting like her, does that mean we could train them for castle protection?”

“…Good question. I’ll make a note of that.”

Hunk grins to himself at the mental image of Thatchia being carried into battle by her tiny flock.

Yeah, maybe that could work.


	27. The Royals - Three

He finds her at her mother’s cryo, huddled in the nest of blankets they’d made on the first day. Careful not to trip over all the cloth, he crouches to set the tray in front of her and she jumps slightly.

“Oh- Coran. I forgot about dinner.”

“Yes, I figured as much. Not to worry, there’s nothing wrong with eating down here,” he says, going over to pull himself a chair while she peruses what he’s brought.

She picks up one of the kepru crackers and dips it in the soup, then takes a bite. “… Erulekki Cheese?”

“Not quite. A descendant, of sorts.”

“Oh.”

He gives her a few minutes to eat, taking the time to make sure that Illyere’s vitals are still good, then sinks into the chair. “Would you like to talk about it?” He finally asks.

Allura scowls faintly, then her ears droop. “Ugh. How can you always _tell?”_

“I was there when you popped out of your egg chamber, I think I’d like to know you by now,” Coran teases, reaching down to tweak her ear, and she wrinkles her nose, mock-swatting at him and sticking out her tongue.

“You’re still worse than an old nurse!” she grouches, then rests her chin in her hands. “I think… I’m going to ask Mother to start the next set of healer pilgrimages.”

Coran raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I… “ She blows out her breath in a huff. “I can’t keep being afraid. I nearly had a panic attack when we had to repair  _you._ Mother nearly  _died_ because I froze up and didn’t know what to do to help her. I can’t…”

Allura begins toying with a piece of her hair. “I can’t risk  _losing_  anyone because I wasn’t prepared.” She raises her head, eyes wet. “Do you think she’ll be okay with it?”

Coran eases himself down from the chair and folds her into a tight hug. “I think she’ll be incredibly proud of you, sweetbug. And so am I.”


	28. Laika

“Look, man, I’ll even admit it’s kinda cool you wanna be the dog’s keeper or whatever, but short, dark, and scary is gonna rip your head off with her teeth if you go in there. Just let me talk to her.”

If anything, Keith’s scowl manages to double the amount of his face it takes up, but he finally makes a grumbling noise and thrusts Laika’s makeshift leash at Lance. “ _Fine_.” 

“Geez, I don’t even wanna know what you’ll be like if you ever have kids,” Lance mutters, then taps at the intercom button on the door’s control panel. “Hey, Smooshy, is your boss in there? I need to ask some questions about our new passenger’s medical stuff.”

The droid makes some tweedling noises in response, then the door swishes open to let him in, Laika trotting obediently at his heels and sniffing with an eager curiosity at the air.

Smooshy is carrying some heavy looking containers that he begins unloading onto a shelf, his new mistress seated on one shoulder with an inventory window floating in front of her.  “What do you want?” she asks, swiping it out of existence with a claw as she looks down at them.

Lance scratches the back of his neck, then crouches down beside Laika to get her to sit, getting licked in the face for his effort. “ _Plaugh-_ uh, Coran said you were going to be acting as medic while Her Queenyness is still in cryo, so we were wondering if you could take a look at our new friend here, maybe?”

Elakka snorts, but he's sure he caught the tiniest of smiles on her face before she turns away, summoning some sort of hover chair with a beckoning motion and hopping into it to get down from Smooshy.  “Do you have any prior knowledge about her species?” she asks, removing her gloves to begin an examination, and he also doesn't miss how gently she cards her claws through fur as she studies the dog with a practiced eye.

He bites back a grin at how _soft_ she's being with the dog, compared to how she was when she met the lot of  _them._ Her ears are even perked up, and he's pretty sure that's a good thing. “Uh, well, actually, I know a little bit of stuff about her from history.” Lance points to a small box in Laika’s flight harness with wires coming out of it. “This thing here,” he saya. “They re-routed an artery near her heart up to lay against her skin so they could monitor her vitals better. Can you fix that?”

The petite alien frowns sharply and her ears immediately go rigid. “How very barbaric. Smooshy, bring me the Kopaii Scanner, with the Metri Lomar modification.”

The droid bloops and shuffles off, and Elakka floats back in her chair, heading for a table. “If she’ll let you, put her up on the workbench.”

“Yes’m.”

Laika yips just a little at being picked up, then licks him in the face again and begins wagging her tail, sitting without even needing to be prompted. “Good girl,” he coos, scratching her ears, and she noses into his hand before watching with interest as the droid returns.

“Thank you,” Elakka says as her companion hands over the requested tools, then sets down what looks like a tiny Eiffel Tower in front of Laika and activates the holowindow thing she holds, scrutinizing the resulting images and numbers that form as a result.

“What’s that do?” Lance asks, peering over her shoulder.

“It gives me a three-dimensional deep tissue view of the patient to see if I can- _ugh_. I was concerned this might be an issue.”

He feels a cold, creeping alarm begin to form in his stomach. “What? Concerned about what?”

“Internal scar tissue can only tell me so much, especially with such crude prior work and a species that’s unfamiliar. Without a blueprint of what her cardiac system is  _supposed_ to look like, attempting to cut through the scarring and put the artery back in place could potentially cause more damage than help.”

Lance feels the hope inside him start to deflate. The others are really not going to be happy to hear  _that._ “Is there anything you _can_ do?”

“Oh, don’t make that face, there are still plenty of options to minimize her misery. For example, though that monitor is certainly outdated by  _your_ technology,  _I_ can still reduce its noticeable presence even further. And her harness could certainly use a comfort upgrade as well. Give me two days.”

And that hope is back. “If you wouldn’t tear my throat out, I’d hug you.”

Elakka gives him a wry look as she pulls her gloves back on. “I might not tear your throat out, but I’m sure you won’t enjoy the stunning agent I employ. Out.”

-

_“Would all residents please assemble in the Paladin training hall? That includes Green and Red.”_

Hunk looks up from the wires he’d been soldering and whistles. “Man, must be important if she’s actually gonna let you and Pidge be in the same room with her,” he says, grinning a little.

Keith gives him a dirty look and drops the ends he’d been holding with a little more emphasis than necessary. “Let’s just go.”

Most of the rest of the crew has already gathered when they arrive to find Elakka standing in the center of the round, Laika sitting at her side with a sleek new harness of some kind on.

“Ooh, are we gonna get a demonstration of Yulnadae tech?” Ylva asks eagerly, and Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. Knowing his luck, said Yulnadae would  _notice_ if he does so, and then he’d be in  _real_ trouble-

“Not exactly,” Elakka says, cutting into his spiral of negative thoughts. “Though I did discover this when I was testing the comfort compatibility of her new gear. You, Red, come take her.”

Surprised that the pint-sized alien has actually spoken to him without her customary venom, Keith blinks at her stupidly for a minute before processing the command. “Uh, sure.” Pushing off from where he’d leaned against the wall, he walks out to the center of the round and picks Laika up, the dog eagerly snuffling at him for ear scratches.

“Now stay there.”

All of them watch with a mix of confusion and interest as Elakka walked to the other side of the round, then pulls something out of her sleeve. Something that makes a loud rattling noise when she shakes it, causing the dog to immediately go on alert. “Laika, look what I’ve got! Snackies!”

With a wormhole-like  _ **VWORP,**  _there is suddenly no dog in Keith’s arms.

With another _**VWORP**_  Elakka is knocked flat, Laika pawing at the container in her hand with begging yips.

Keith stares, mouth falling open.

And he is very,  _very_  sure he isn't alone in that reaction.


End file.
